Revenge & Redemption
by Diswrit
Summary: "It was then that I realized the true beauty of Dean's punishment, his solution to our fractured relationship. It went both ways. For me, it was revenge. It was the closure that I needed to feel whole again. For Dean, it was redemption. It was the evening of the scores, the lifting of the burden of guilt from his shoulders. It was everything we both needed." (AU onshot story)
1. Chapter 1

Was I mad at those two idiots? Not really. Mostly, I was just tired as hell. I couldn't wait to get back to the motel and relax. And hey, I sure deserved it. After all, I did most of the work on this hunt.  
Fine, backstory. What were we hunting, how'd it go and all that jazz...  
We thought it was a demon at first. All the signs looked like demonic. Turned out it was actually just a nasty witch though. I don't even know the guy's name. To me, he was just 'The Witch'.  
In any case, about half-way through the hunt, Sam and Dean started chasing their tails trying to pinpoint it's next victim, as usual. They found her, the last person tied to the family that The Witch was wiping out. We split up. I staked out some girl's house, and they went back to the motel to try and get some background on her to see if the Witch was someone she knew.  
What none of us anticipated was that the Witch had gotten wind of the fact that there were hunters in town, and he hid a hex bag in our motel room. The Spell turned the Winchesters into The Witch's mindless slaves. Long story short, they grabbed me and took me to The Witch's lair on his orders. I got loose, and slit his throat(After a brief scuffle with the same two bozos who were supposed to be helping me catch the fucker). To break the Spell he put on my two favorite morons, I burnt the hex bag controlling them, which was, conveniently, in Sam's pocket.  
We were home free. Sam wanted to pack up and head out immediately, but I had different plans. See, I was kinda pissed at him and Dean for 1: letting themselves get turned into zombies; and 2: beating me up when I tried to save their sorry asses. I had a quick way to get back at them too.  
"Not so fast Sam," I said, hands on my hips. "I'm heading back to the motel for some downtime. You and Dean are gonna stay here and clean up."  
I glanced at Dean, who was still unconscious in the corner. My fault, but hey, he'd been trying to strangle me at the time, so I didn't really feel any sympathy for him.  
Sam just nodded, either too tired to argue with me, or plagued by guilt for hitting me earlier. So I gave him a very specific set of instructions. The Witch had been working with the local law enforcement. Cops really got their undies in a bundle when it was one of their own that had gotten ganked. Truth be told, under any other circumstances, I wouldn't have been worried about the cops at all, but it was as good an excuse as any to make Sam and Dean stay late and work their asses off trying to get the blood out of the carpet.  
I told Sam to scrub the place, hide the body, and set it up to look like The Witch had just gone on a spontaneous extended vacation. I told him if he could pull it off without leaving prints, he should also type up a note and pin it to The Witch's door. If those two clowns didn't dick it up, no one would be looking for The Witch for at least a month, more than long enough for me and the Winchesters to clear out of town. In fact, by the time they figured out anything was amiss, I doubted anyone would even remember the black chevy impala that had rolled into town around the time of the witch's disappearance.  
Like I said before, I was exhausted, and when I got back to the motel, the only thing on my mind was sleep. I crawled into one of the beds, pulled the covers over my head, and passed out immediately. Looking back, I should have been a little bit more careful. Especially considering how many times I had tangled with Witches in the past.  
I was sleeping heavily, so I didn't hear him come in. I didn't even know he was there until I had the blanket ripped off of me. Startled, I leaped to my feet on the other side of the bed, preparing to fight an intruder as adrenaline flooded my system. I relaxed quickly, however, when I saw it was just Dean.  
"God damn it Dean," I swore. "That was stupid. I was getting ready to kick your ass. Give me that!"  
I snatched the blanket back from him, and plopped down on the bed again, getting comfortable under the covers. My moment of peace didn't last for very long though. I yelped as Dean pushed me, and I fell off the bed, tangled in the sheets and blankets. He was on top of me before I could even start swearing at him, twisting the sheets around so I became hopelessly imprisoned within them.  
"Dean! What. Are. You. Doing?!" I spat at him. I managed to get my arms free, and took a swing at his grinning face. He dodged the blow, and grabbed my hand, twisting it around my back.  
"Dean!"  
I writhed, cursing him in my mind, though I really didn't believe anything was wrong. I thought it was just Dean, acting like a complete moron, as usual. This wasn't the first time he'd gotten drunk, wrestled me to the ground, and... tied my hands behind my back?  
Actually, that was a first.  
It didn't seem like him, but that was what was happening. I heard the sheet tearing as he yanked a strip free and bound my hands expertly with it.  
Did I like it? No.  
"Alice, calm down," he said soothingly, as I started thrashing in an effort to flip him off of me. I wondered how someone could manage to sound mocking and placating at the same time.  
"It's not like I'm gonna hurt you," he added. I huffed indignantly from my position, lying on my stomach with him straddling my lower back. I relaxed though, despite my annoyance.  
"I'm not worried about you hurting me, I'm worried about being smothered in this blanket because you're being a dumbass! What do you think you're doing anyway?" I demanded angrily. He shushed me softly, and... clamped his hand over my mouth? What was going on?  
He leaned down to speak at my ear.  
"Don't you worry your pretty little head. You won't be wrapped up in that for too long."  
Something about the way he said it send a shiver down my spine. It was his tone more than his words. He almost sounded like he was threatening me.  
He took his hand off my mouth and went to work carefully untangling me from the sheets.  
"Hmm... this is just like unwrapping a present... you know it was going to be Master's birthday next week?" Dean asked.  
"What?" I asked. I had no idea what he was talking about.  
"Nothing you need to worry about," he said.  
Okay, I've had enough of this bullshit, I thought. I rolled sharply to the side, throwing Dean off of me. He had removed enough of the sheets that I was able to leap to my feet and make a run for the door. Dean grabbed my ankle before I got far though, and I crashed to the ground hard. I couldn't catch myself with my hands tied behind my back, and my head slammed against the floor.  
I knew now this wasn't Dean, and when he tried to straddle me again, I fought back every way I could without using my hands. I expected it to be a quick fight, because, as a Shifter, I was rightfully stronger than he was.  
I was right about it being quick.  
He landed a punch to my temple, and the world spun around me. The next thing I knew, he was on top of me with his hands around my neck.  
"If you so much as move, I'll snap your neck. I don't think you would want me to have to live with the guilt of doing that to you, now do you?" he asked.  
"You're not Dean," I said. I knew I was stating the obvious, but maybe I could find out what this was, and either kill it, exorcise it, or... whatever.  
"Of course I am sweetheart," he said, tracing a line down my jaw while keeping one hand on my neck. "I'm just doing what I'm told."  
I frowned, before it dawned on me what was going on. "The Witch still has you under his Spell... why?" I realized. I frowned, voicing my thoughts as they came to me. "I burned the hex bag. It broke the Spell on Sam, so why are you still zombie'd out?"  
Dean grinned, and pulled a hex bag out of his pocket. "'Cause you burned Sammy's bag, but you didn't touch mine."  
I groaned. Of course, I was an idiot. I had assumed that there had been one hex bag controlling both of them, because that was standard practice for this type of Spell. But this Witch had obviously not been following standard practices.  
"The Witch is dead. He can't be giving you orders anymore," I said.  
"Doesn't matter. I know what my Master would have wanted. Revenge on the whore that killed him," Dean said.  
"Great. Where's Sam?" I asked, dreading his answer.  
"Knocked out at Master's house," Dean said.  
"You didn't hurt him?" I asked incredulously.  
"Come on, I would never hurt little Sammy. I've gotta protect him, remember?" Dean said, grinning. "That's why you need to relax, Alice." He loosened his grip on my neck, instead curling his hand around and winding his fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck. "I would never hurt you either," he said.  
"Yeah, well... you're not you at the moment," I said. I tried to roll again, but he anticipated it this time, and held onto me firmly. He slammed my already throbbing head against the floor, and I cried out in pain.  
"Really Alice, you think I'm falling for the same move twice?" he asked. "This would be easier and better for us both if you would just give in and go along like I know you want to."  
"What?" I was dizzy from the blows to my head, so gathering my wits enough to form a plan on getting ahold of that hex bag and burning it was really hard. It didn't get any easier when he leaned down and pushed his lips against mine roughly.  
The action might have passed for a kiss if there were less teeth involved. He forced my lips apart, invading my mouth with his tongue.  
I froze for a moment, because this felt like Dean. It smelled, and tasted like Dean.  
But I could tell it that it wasn't him. His hands were too rough on me. The kiss was too aggressive, bordering on hostile, for it to have been Dean. We got rough with each other sometimes, but this was something completely different. Something I didn't want.  
I clamped my teeth together, and he barely pulled back in time to avoid having his tongue bitten off. He retaliated by slapping me across the face quickly, the sound sharp and far too loud in the dark room.  
"You'd better be good." He was out of breath, but he didn't sound angry. He sounded more amused than anything else. I heard a snap, and my eyes were drawn to the switchblade he pulled from his pocket. "'Cause if you're not going to be good, I'm gonna have to punish you," he said, pressing the blade against my cheek.  
I let myself go limp, and he grinned.  
"There's a good girl," he crooned, stroking my cheek. He closed the switchblade, and stuffed it into his pocket again. I carefully took note of which one.  
He leaned back down, plundering my mouth with his tongue again. This time, I let him.  
My hands were killing me, pressed between my back and the floor at an awkward angle. I tried to shift them into a more comfortable position, with no luck. Despite my discomfort, I could feel my body responding to him, and I hated it. It made me feel... unfaithful. Sure, that was a stupid thought. Me and Dean had a silent agreement that we were allowed to do whatever we wanted, with whomsoever we desired. Truth be told, however, I had never wanted anyone but Dean, especially while I was with him. There was about a ten year period right before I had died(the first time), in which I only saw Dean once. Thinking back on those years, however, I realized how preoccupied I had been, living from hunt to hunt. It hit me then that the furthest I had ever gone with someone who was not Dean Winchester were drunken kisses stolen in back alleys mere hours before I would skip town chasing the next demon or monster.  
Dean shoved his hand roughly up my shirt, and I moaned at the familiar sensation of his caloused fingers grasping my sensitive flesh. I stopped short, however, chastising myself. This wasn't Dean. Not really.  
He pulled away from me, laughing at my reaction to his touches.  
"You like it rough, don't you Alice? You'd never say it out loud, but I know you love being treated like the dirty whore you are," Dean said.  
"Shut up. You're t-the whore," I shot back. I bit back a curse and a moan as he squeezed my nipple and pulled. While I managed not to make any noises that he could possibly interpret as me enjoying this, it was getting harder for me to keep glaring at him.  
"I'm not the one spreading my legs like a slut," Dean said smugly.  
I realized then that I had spread my legs, and tried to shut them. He slapped the inside of my thigh, however, drawing a surprised yelp from me.  
"Spread those legs," Dean growled, his hand straying toward the switchblade pocket. I complied quickly, still glaring daggers at him. His smirk only grew, and the hand that wasn't fondling my breasts slid between my legs. I couldn't help moaning when he stroked my core through my pants, sending an electric tingle through me.  
"Such a needy little slut. I bet you want my cock in you now, don't you? You're all dripping for me, aren't you?"  
"Fuck you," I said, injecting as much venom into my tone as I could.  
"I know that's what you want to do baby," Dean said, rubbing harder and more quickly against my crotch. "But you know what? I'm not going to fuck you like I know you want me to. Not until you beg for my cock inside you."  
I hated admitting it to myself, but he was driving me insane. His fingers felt so good rubbing against my clothed womanhood, and I wanted more than that. He was crazy if he thought I was begging for it though.  
"I know you Dean," I said, managing a smirk of my own. "You don't have the self-control to keep from fucking me. Before this is over, I'll have you begging me for more. Not the other way around."  
He took his hand out from between my legs and slapped me again, though more lightly this time.  
"Don't open your mouth unless you're begging me to fuck you," Dean ordered.  
"Yeah, good luck with-"  
I cut off as he slapped me a third time. I could taste blood in my mouth. I knew Dean was still in that body somewhere, but at that moment, I was tempted to forget that fact and torture this little shit before I burned that hex bag.  
"You ready to behave yet?" he asked. I pretended to consider for a moment, then spat a mouthful of blood in his face. He wiped it off slowly, while I savored the brief moment of satisfaction.  
"You're gonna regret that," he said steadily, his face a carefully composed mask. I could tell that beneath it, however, was a boiling rage that could spill over at any moment.  
"I'd be careful if I were you," I replied. I spoke just as calmly as he had, despite my awareness of the danger I was in. He could kill me at any moment. "I am going to get loose, and there's going to be hell to pay when I do."  
"Nah, you won't hurt me," Dean said cockily. He slapped me again as if to prove it. "You would never hurt me."  
"You'd better be real goddamned sure about that," I hissed.  
Dean considered me for a moment, and then grinned. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure. Watch this."  
He flipped me onto my stomach before I had a chance to react.  
"Don't," he warned when I tried again to squirm out of his grasp. I felt the switchblade press against the back of my neck. "I've still got this beauty."  
I stilled, and felt the blade leave my neck. Then, in one quick motion, he cut the sheet binding my wrists, and stepped back from me.  
That confused me.  
I stood, watching him warily. Had he snapped out of it? Overcome the Spell on his own somehow?  
I took a cautious step toward him.  
"Don't come any closer," Dean warned, holding the switchblade to his own throat. "Take one more step in my direction, I'll cut my throat. Try to leave this room, I'll cut my throat. You'll have to watch me bleed out unless you do exactly as I say."  
"You won't do that," I said, holding my ground.  
"You'd better be real god damned sure about that," Dean repeated my earlier words mockingly.  
I glared at him, but took a step back, because while I knew Dean would never kill himself like this, the man standing in front of me was not Dean.  
He grinned at my compliance. "Strip. Now," he ordered.  
I did as he said grudgingly, glaring at him the whole time. I was cold at the best of times, but the room was colder, and I shivered as the freezing air hit my skin.  
Dean motioned to the sheets. "Tear those up, and tie one of your feet to each of those posts." He pointed to the posts at the foot of the bed. "I want you facing the bed so I can bend you over it."  
I hesitated. The last thing I wanted to do was give up the advantage of being able to use my arms and legs.  
"Now!" he yelled, pressing the switchblade against his throat just hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.  
"Fine!" I shot back. I edged around him to the side of the bed, and tore the sheets before positioning myself at the foot of the bed. I had to twist myself into one hell of an awkward position to tie the sheet around my ankle and to the bed post. It took a lot to keep from letting him know how badly I actually wanted him now that I was naked and my legs were spread the width of a queen-sized mattress. I managed it by reminding myself again that this wasn't Dean.  
"Good girl," he said. He went around to the pile of sheets, and tore two long strips from the remaining fabric. He tossed them to me. "Tie one of those around each of your hands," he instructed.  
"I'm gonna kill you," I said darkly.  
Dean's grin widened. "You can do that now sweetheart. All you gotta do is disobey me."  
He pressed the knife to his neck firmly once more, drawing more blood.  
"Just stop!" I said, picking up the strips. Using my teeth, I managed to get one tied around each of my wrists.  
"There you go. That wasn't so hard, now was it?" Dean asked. He grabbed the end of one of the strips, and tied it to one of the posts at the head of the bed. He drew it taut, forcing me to bend over the mattress. He walked around behind me, slapping my ass as he went. I considered trying to get the knife away from him, but I decided against it. I didn't want to take the chance, especially since I only had one hand free.  
Dean secured the last strip, and checked the strips around my ankles, retying one of them. He trailed a hand up my leg from his position, crouched at my feet. The tender caress contrasted sharply with his earlier actions. He kissed the outside of my left leg softly, trailing his lips up my leg as he slowly rose. His hand traced a similar path along my right leg. I forced myself to keep still, when all I really wanted was to press closer to him. Try as I might, however, I couldn't stop myself from trembling with need at his touches, which were far too gentle. It was as if he thought I was a wild animal, and he didn't want to startle me.  
He stood fully, his hands settling at my hips. He gripped them loosely, and pressed the front of his pants against my ass, thrusting toward me slightly. I bit my lip as he repeated the slow motion. I could feel his erection through his jeans, and I wanted so badly to arch and grind against him. I needed friction, of any kind, and I shuddered as I imagined receiving what I knew he could give me if he wanted.  
But no.  
This wasn't Dean. I didn't want this man. Not him. Not him.  
He pulled away from me for a moment, and dipped a finger into my slick heat, eliciting a startled sound from me that was somewhere between a gasp and a moan. I thought he was going to start fingering me, but he pressed his groin against me again, returning his hand to my hip.  
"Oh yeah, you want me Alice," he said. His voice was low, and dripping with lust. He bent over me, brushing my hair to the side and laying a soft, chaste kiss to the back of my neck. "And you know what?" he said at my ear. I didn't respond. I was too preoccupied with not moaning aloud as one of his hands curved around me to gently stroke my breasts. "I want you too, baby. Just beg. Beg for me Alice," he said. His other hand traced light swirls from the side of my abdomen, down to my thigh and back. Again, and again, as he continued to speak at my ear. "Beg me, and I'll fuck you like I can feel you want me to. I'll take you hard, and fast and hot, like you want. Just beg for it."  
I swallowed hard. It's not Dean. It's not Dean. I repeated the three words over and over in my mind like a mantra.  
"No," I said firmly. "I make you beg for me, remember?"  
"Not tonight," Dean said insistently.  
I tried to pass my sigh off as condescending. Tried to convince myself it wasn't in reaction to his hand knotting in my hair.  
"Dean, this doesn't work. It's not in your nature to wait for pleasure. It's not in your nature to demand it like this either."  
"What does that mean?" he asked, drawing back sharply.  
"You're a sub, that's what it means," I said, grateful for his withdrawal. Every time he touched me it sent sparks flying through me, and added to the longing ache between my legs.  
"I'm a- I'll show you a sub," he growled. He yanked my hair, snapping my head back roughly as he slapped my ass. I cried out at the first slap, but as he kept hitting me, I swallowed my shouts. Despite the stinging pain, or perhaps because of it, I was becoming more aroused by the second. I allowed myself to whimper quietly, hoping he wouldn't hear it over the sharp slaps to my rear.  
He stopped suddenly, leaning over me again and pulling my hair harder.  
"You sure I'm the sub here?" he growled. He was out of breath from beating me. I winced as the coarse fabric of his jeans rubbed harshly against my sore, stinging ass.  
"That spanking turned you on," Dean continued. "You think I didn't see you trying to push back against my hand like the wanton little whore you are?"  
A loud, startled moan escaped me as he rubbed a finger roughly over my entrance. I reflexively arched against his hand, trying to get more friction. I wanted to beg him to fuck me. I ran the words over in my mind.  
'Please, just do it, please fuck me Dean-'  
I stopped myself quickly. It's not Dean. It's not Dean.  
"Yeah, I feel you trying to fuck my fingers, you greedy little slut," he said smugly.  
"I'm-I'm not-"  
"Shut up!" he roared, bringing his hand down across my back. "I don't want to hear anything out of you unless you're begging for my cock, bitch!"  
"I'm not going to, so you can just forget it, you bastard!" I shouted back, my anger flaring.  
"I said shut up!" he repeated, slapping me again.  
"No! I don't need to beg for anything!" I yelled. "If I want you to fuck me, all I have to do is wait! You. Have. No. Self. Control!"  
"You'd better watch it! I can jerk myself off and leave you here desperate and dripping wet like the needy little whore you are!" he warned.  
"It wouldn't be as good as fucking me, and you know it," I said triumphantly. "Just imagine my tight pussy gripping your cock, and compare that to what you can do with your hands. It doesn't measure up, and you know it!"  
I paused. It's not Dean. It's not Dean. "But... just because I want you to know that and suffer does NOT mean I want you to fuck me," I added lamely. I was lying, and we both knew it, but I would still be damned if I was going to cave to him.  
He was silent for a moment, and all I could hear was his heavy breathing. Finally, he chuckled.  
"You know, you're right. I'd get more pleasure from being inside you."  
He stepped back from me, and I craned my neck trying to keep him in my line of sight. He unzipped his pants, and pulled out his manhood, pushing his underwear down just enough to free his balls. He spit on his hand and wrapped it around his cock. His eyes closed and he moaned as he stroked himself, spreading the spit over his entire length. He opened his eyes and smirked at me as he came closer. A thrill shot through me, and my toes curled in anticipation.  
It's not Dean. It's not Dean.  
I forced myself to relax.  
"You're such a lucky little slut. Lucky that I'm so nice..." He laughed. "Ah, who'm I kidding? I just don't like a dry fuck."  
Before I had time to puzzle over what he meant, he shoved a finger roughly into my ass. I yelped, clenching around the digit, but that only made it hurt worse.  
"What are you doing?!" I squealed.  
"You're right Alice, I just gotta be inside you," he said. "But I just can't have you getting pleasure when you're being such a bad girl... you should be thanking me for not just taking you right away. Not only am I gonna make sure I don't take you dry, I'm gonna stretch you out a little to make it easier on you."  
I couldn't hold back a cry of pain as he roughly thrust another finger into my tight hole. I caught his malicious smile out of the corner of my eye.  
"I know, I'm so nice to my whores. Thank me, bitch. Say, 'thank you, sir'- no, no, no, actually... say, 'thank you, Master'," he said. "Let me hear you say that... make your Master happy.'  
"Fuck you," I managed.  
Dean tsked. "That was a mistake," he said. He withdrew his fingers, and thrust into me sharply, burying himself balls deep in my ass. I screamed in pain, clenching tightly around his thickness as he moaned. "Fuck! Oh god, Alice, you've got such a perfect ass... s-so tight... fuck- oh, you feel so g-good around my cock!" he groaned. He leaned over me to breathe his words into my ear as he ran his hands over me. "You've got a virgin ass, don't you? You never had anyone fuck you here before... know how I can tell? You keep fucking clenching like that! Oh god! Alice, that makes it so good for me, baby! I don't even have t-to move... Oh FUCK!" He laughed breathlessly. "You know what though, Alice... that's gonna make it hurt more for you... just... you gotta relax!"  
"FUCK YOU!" I yelled at him. I tried to force myself to stop clenching around him, but FUCK IT HURT!  
"That's it," Dean growled, gripping my hair tightly. "Fuck you, bitch! I try to be good to you, and you won't even thank me for it! You want me to fuck you? I will, you fucking whore!"  
He pulled back and thrust into my ass roughly, and I couldn't hold back my shouts of pain. My ass burned, and he was thrusting so hard and fast that I was sure he was going to tear me open. It hurt so bad... so why the FUCK was I so turned on?  
Every centimeter Dean stretched me, every burning thrust, every time he yanked my hair, I could feel myself getting wetter for him, yearning more for him to fuck my womanhood even more brutally than he was pounding into my ass.  
It's not Dean. It's not Dean.  
It didn't matter. This wasn't love. It was lust, pure and simple. I wanted him. I needed him. Fuck pride... I needed him NOW.  
"Dean! Please, Dean, stop!" I shouted.  
"Why should I?!" he demanded, his thrusts not slowing.  
"I want you to fuck me! Please, Dean, I need you to fuck me!" I yelled.  
"I AM fucking you, slut!" he growled.  
"Dean, I want you to fuck my pussy, please I need- I need you so bad! Please!" I begged.  
"I don't know, I'm enjoying this an awful lot," he said, though his thrusts slowed.  
"Please... please fuck my pussy, Master! Master, please!" I begged. I wanted the pain in my ass to subside nearly as badly as I wanted his cock inside the right hole.  
Dean moaned, and his lips curved up in a smile. "There's a good little whore," he said. He pulled out of my ass, and I almost sobbed in relief.  
Then he pushed two fingers into my cunt. I could have screamed in pleasure as I ground back against him desperately.  
"OH! Oh, yes!" I screamed as he moved his fingers inside of me.  
"That's it... that's a good little slut," Dean purred, crooking his fingers so they hit exacty the right spot to send pleasure shooting through me. "Aren't I a good Master, letting you have my fingers like this?" he asked.  
"Yes! Yes, you're so good!" I moaned.  
"So thank me!" he demanded.  
"Oh, Master! Thank you Master! Thank you so much!"  
He moaned, stroking himself with his free hand as he slid another finger into me. He leaned over my back again, his swollen cock pressing against me.  
"Don't you want my cock?" he asked at my ear.  
"I do... I want it s-so bad, Master!" I gasped.  
"Convince me you really want it," he said. "Tell me how much of a cock-slut you are!"  
"I want it so bad, Master, please! I am, I'm a slut for your cock! I'm your little whore!" I chattered. I was past worrying about my dignity. I just wanted him inside me.  
"That's a good girl... that's a good litte slut!" he said. He pulled his fingers out of me, and I felt his cock finally slide into me. "FUCK that's good... Master! Oh, Master, yes! Oh, you're so good to me! You're s-so good to your whore! Master!"  
"My name... say my name! Scream my name!" he ordered.  
"DEAN! Th-thank you! Oh, Dean, thank you!" Dean buried himself to the hilt in me with a final shout of pleasure.  
He continued to moan for a few minutes while he came down from his climax. I turned my head around as far as I could, to see him leaning against me heavily, trying to catch his breath. He caught my eye, and smirked. I whined softly in protest as he pulled out of me, pulling his pants up and zipping them as he walked around to the side of the bed. He crouched down at my level, an evil gleam in his eyes. He reached out and ran his fingers through my hair, tender again.  
"You didn't cum, did you?" he asked.  
I swallowed, and shook my head.  
He nodded. "That's good. You'll die unsatisfied. Just like my Master," he said. He hopped onto the bed, straddling my back and pulling my head back by my hair, exposing my throat. I tried to pull my head down, to shield my neck, but that only resulted in pain. Dean's grip on my hair didn't loosen. I heard the click of the switchblade, and felt it press against my neck.  
"Dean, don't do this," I said. "You have to snap out of this, this isn't you!"  
"Oh, it's me, Alice. Like I said before. I'm just doing as I'm told now," Dean said.  
"God damn it, Dean! I swear if you kill me I'll come back and haunt your ass!" I yelled desperately.  
"I hope you enjoyed that fucking, bitch. From what I remember, Hell doesn't dole out that kind of pain," Dean said.  
My eyes widened, as I realized this was it. I was going to die again. Maybe for the last time.  
"Dean... I-"  
My final words were cut short; not by a blade drawn quickly across my throat as I had anticipated, but by another voice.  
"Dean, stop!" I couldn't see him, but I had never been happier to hear Sam's voice. I felt Dean turn to look at him, and then he went flying off of me. I looked to the side, and realized Sam had tackled him.  
They rolled to the floor, wrestling with one another. I saw the switchblade abandoned on the bed near my hand. Just close enough for me to reach it. I snatched it, and managed to cut the strip of sheet binding the hand I had grabbed the switchblade with.  
"Thank Heaven," I mumbled. I quickly cut the other strips, and turned to where Dean had managed to mount Sam. He had his hands around his younger brother's throat, strangling him.  
It looked ridiculous. Sam was so much bigger than Dean, he should have been able to beat him in a wrestling match any day. Dean, however, had overcome Sam the same way he had beaten me, a Shifter. With extra strength lent to him by The Witch's Spell. I grabbed the lamp off the night stand, and walked up behind Dean.  
"Hey, asshole," I spat. His head snapped around, and I whacked him in the face with the lamp as hard as I could. The lamp vibrated, a hollow clanging bouncing around inside the metal stand, and Dean crumpled to the ground beside Sam.  
"Sam! You okay?" I asked.  
"Yeah, I'm fine," he gasped. "How about you?"  
"I've been better," I said.  
I was shaking so hard. I tried to stop myself from shaking, but I couldn't. What was wrong with me? Pull yourself together, I ordered myself.  
I cleared my throat, and hurried over to the bed. I wrapped what was left of the sheet around myself.  
"You c-can look now," I told Sam. Did I just stutter? Sam, who had been politely keeping his eyes fixed on the wall, turned his gaze to me.  
"What the hell happened?" he asked. I knelt beside Dean, searching his pockets quickly. I found the hex bag, and held it up for Sam to see.  
"The Witch made you separate hex bags. I burned yours, but not his," I explained.  
"So he was still under the Spell," Sam said.  
"Yep. Do you have a lighter?" I asked.  
"Yeah," Sam said. He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to me. I winced, my muscles protesting as I walked over to the bathroom sink. I lit the hex bag up, and dropped it in, my eyes narrowing as I watched it burn.  
I looked over to where Sam was shaking Dean, trying to wake him. At the sight of Dean's unconscious form, I started shaking more violently than before.  
Stop that. You're alive. You are fine. Stop Shaking.  
But I couldn't stop.  
I bit my lip, turning to my reflection in the mirror. The fire in the sink cast a shifting orange glow over my brooding features. When Dean did wake up... I didn't want to imagine what might have to happen.

* * *

I got dressed, and left the room. I didn't want to be there when Dean woke up. I took a nice long walk, and stayed out for as long as I could, but I had to go back sometime.  
As I stood at the door of the room, I tried to prepare myself as well as I could. I told myself it was silly to feel this afraid. This nervous, this hurt. What happened earlier had not been Dean's fault. He would never have done anything like that had he not been under the Witch's spell. Hunting is a hard job, I reminded myself. Things like this came with the territory. They were an occupational hazard. I was a hunter because I was strong enough to deal with these things. But was I? Nothing like this had ever happened to me before.  
You've been through worse, I thought to myself as I stared at the doorknob. You had to stab grandma. You had to go through hell... you had to watch Dean go to hell. If you survived all that, you can survive this.  
I took one final, fortifying breath, and walked into the room.  
The lights were off. Sam was sleeping, and Dean was sitting at the table, staring at the ceiling.  
"Dean," I said quietly. He met my eyes for moment, and then looked at the ground.  
"Alice," he responded flatly. "Are you okay?"  
"I've been worse," I said again.  
He swallowed, and didn't say anything.  
The silence was deafening. Why did the silence bug me so much? Usually, I wouldn't mind it. "  
How's your head?" I finally asked.  
"Fine," he replied. I could tell he was lying.  
"Bull," I said bluntly, forcing myself to walk over to his side. "Let me see."  
I reached out, my hand trembling, to gingerly touch the side of his head I had hit him on. He flinched away from me, and somehow, that made everything worse. I tried to ignore his reaction, how tense he was, how shaken I was, and concentrated on what I was pretty sure was a concussion. It was too dark in the room for me to see much, but I could feel dried blood in his hair.  
"How many fingers?" I asked, holding up two. Dean's eyes darted to my hand, and then fell back to the floor. He shrugged.  
"Two?" he asked more than said. I bit back a sigh of irritation.  
"How many do you see?" I asked.  
"Four and a half," Dean said.  
"Right," I said, standing. "I can deal with a concussion."  
"Alice, I-"  
"Don't talk," I said. I had been aiming for a firm tone, but I thought I sounded like I wanted to cry. I did want to cry, but I was forcing myself to stay collected.  
"I'm sorry," he said despite my order. He gazed up at me pleadingly, but all I could do was nod in response.  
"Just don't move," I said quietly.


	2. Chapter 2

Two weeks passed. We hunted, Sam, Dean and I. For me, it was theraputic. During the hunt, I could forget what had happened for a while. I could focus on the thrill of the adrenaline rushing through my veins whilst chasing my targets. I could feel in control, something I desperately needed.  
Dean and I rarely spoke. When he entered a room, I left. If I couldn't leave, we stuck to opposite sides. He never met my eyes, and I hated even looking at him.  
I could feel the tension wearing on Sam. I could see it in his eyes. He hated the rift between Dean and I. He hated what it was doing to our family as a whole. Because in the end, that was what we had been before the Witch incident. A family. Now, we were... broken. Plain and simple. And I thought there was no way to fix us.  
Apparently, both Sam and Dean had other opinions. I ran out for supplies one night, and when I got back to the hotel room, Sam was gone. Dean sat on the edge of one of the two beds in the room, his expression dark and brooding.  
"Where's Sam?" I asked immediately. My guard was up instantly. I walked over to the table, and set the bags down as calmly as I could. I could feel the first flutterings of panic in my gut as Dean stood, and locked the door.  
"Sam got another room," Dean replied.  
"What are you doing?" I asked quietly, my hand wandering instinctively to the gun tucked into my jacket.  
Dean's eyes followed my hand, his expression turning sorrowful when he saw where it now rested.  
"We need to... talk," he said. "About us. About what happened."  
What was he talking about? I was trying to forget what had happened. The last thing I wanted, or needed was to talk to Dean about it.  
"No, we don't," I said flatly. Dean wilted slightly at my tone, and it occurred to me that he was more nervous than I was. I grabbed onto that, and used to it to strengthen myself. I straightened, standing taller and forcing back my fear. Dean wasn't going to hurt me. And even if he tried, now that he was out from under the Witch's spell, I was stronger than he was. What could he do?  
As the fear drained away slowly, anger slid into it's place. I welcomed it with open arms. Anger I could control. Anger, I could predict. Anger strengthened me rather than weakening me. Anger was good.  
"Look, Alice, I- I need your help," he said, not looking up from the ground.  
I bit back a sigh of contempt and exasperation. "With what?" I asked. Though I tried to hide it, even I could hear the impatience and thinly veiled rage in my voice.  
"I need you to punish me," he said, meeting my eyes.  
I laughed at him.  
"Punish you? How?"  
"I don't know, however you want," he said. I laughed again, but stopped short when I realized he was serious.  
"Dean, you don't really think this is going to help anything," I said.  
"I don't know, it might," he said. "Please, Alice... I can't do this. I can't- what I did... I can't live with this guilt anymore. I just... I want us to be right again."  
"You mean you want it to be like it was before," I said. He dropped his gaze to the floor again. "Dean, it's never going to be the same between us. I hate to say it, but I've changed. You've changed. There's no going back."  
"I don't- we don't have to be like we were before," Dean said, meeting my eyes again pleadingly. "Anything's better than this... than what we're doing now."  
"Dean..." I trailed off, shaking my head.  
"Look, I know it's selfish, asking you for this, but I need-"  
I snapped then. I moved almost out of instinct, rage, hatred, fear, all the emotions I had been fighting to keep locked away for the past few weeks came bubbling to the surface. I took a swing at Dean, landing a punch to his jaw. He stumbled back in shock, a hand flying to his face as I hit him again.  
"You need?!" I spat. He backed away from me as I advanced, throwing blows that he narrowly avoided. He ran up against the wall, and I punched him in the gut. He doubled over, gasping for breath, but I wrapped a hand around his neck and pushed him upright against the wall.  
"Alice-"  
"Shut up! I don't want to hear about what you need!" I hissed, tightening my grip on his throat. He didn't fight me, letting his hands hang limply at his sides even though he was struggling to breathe.  
"You want to be punished? Fine," I said, forcing my expression and words into calmness. "But just so you know, I am not doing it for you. This is for me. This is revenge."  
I squeezed harder, and his hands flew to his throat instinctively, because he couldn't breathe anymore.  
It was then that I realized the true beauty of Dean's punishment, his solution to our fractured relationship. It went both ways. For me, it was revenge. It was the closure that I needed to feel whole again. For Dean, it was redemption. It was the evening of the scores, the lifting of the burden of guilt from his shoulders.  
It was everything we both needed.  
I let Dean go, and he fell at my feet, gasping for breath. I kicked him in the gut, and he cried out, curling into a ball to shield his more vulnerable areas. He didn't make another sound as I continued to rain blows down upon his prone form. It felt so good to let out all the rage that had been building up inside of me.  
"Scream, god damn it!" I yelled, one of my blows connecting with his ribs. I heard something crack, so I wasn't sure if he was obeying me, or simply couldn't hold back his scream of agony at what I suspected was a broken rib.  
When I finally stopped, I was out of breath, and Dean was bleeding and whimpering at my feet. Somewhere inside me, some remnant of what I used to be that was buried beneath my rage felt a twinge of sympathy for him. It was shoved aside quickly, however, and I hauled him up by his hair.  
"Get up," I said. He clutched his ribs, and when he was upright, swayed as if he would topple back to the ground in a heap.  
"Strip," I ordered. He hesitated, and I slapped him hard enough that he fell back against the wall.  
"Now!" I shouted. He straightened, and I took a step back from him, watching in satisfaction as he struggled to shed his clothes without aggravating his broken ribs. As he removed his shirt, I saw the angry red marks covering his upper body that would soon become full-fledged bruises. A few areas around his rib cage were already darkening into black, blue and purple hues.  
A few minutes later, he stood before me completely nude, and I was able to see exactly how much damage I had done. It was disappointingly little.  
I smirked, and beckoned him with a finger. He came to me, his posture similar to that of a beaten dog.  
"Get down on your hands and knees, bitch," I said, circling him. Dean knelt, and rather than wait for him to ease into position, I kicked him in the back, sending him face-first into the floor and wrenching another shout of pain from him.  
"I said hands and knees!" I shouted. He scrambled to correct his stance, wincing. I knelt behind him, running a fingernail lightly down his spine and enjoying the shudder that ripped through his frame at the gentle caress. I leaned over his back to speak at his ear.  
"That's a... good boy," I said, echoing his words. I drew back, tracing the borders of the soon-to-be bruises that were scattered over his back. He was shaking, his breath coming in sharp, pained intakes. I let my hands curve down, stroking his stomach and moving up. He shifted beneath me, groaning in pain. His groans, however, turned to sharp cries as I dug my fingers into his rib cage.  
He collapsed, but I dragged him back into position, punching him in the gut as something close to a sob escaped him.  
"Did I tell you to move?" I demanded. I grabbed his hair when he didn't reply. "Did I?!"  
"No!" he gasped.  
"There should be a 'master' in there somewhere," I growled.  
"No, master," Dean whimpered.  
"That's better," I said, releasing my grip on his hair. I considered my options, everything I could do to him. Ultimately, I settled on exactly what he had done to me. An eye for an eye. Or, in this case...  
"Spit," I ordered, holding my hand out. He did, and I brought my hand back around, noticing blood mixed in with his saliva.  
"You're lucky you've got such a nice master," I told him as I spread his spit over my fingers. He twitched, and his trembling worsened. He knew what I was going to do.  
I nudged his legs further apart, and stroked his tight hole. Spreading his butt cheeks, I spat between them, circling his puckered entrance with my slick finger.  
"Beg," I ordered.  
"Master... please," Dean whimpered softly.  
"What do you want?" I asked.  
"Mercy," he replied.  
"Like you gave me mercy?" I asked. He cried out as I thrust two fingers into him simultaneously. I could feel him clenching around them, and I grinned, remembering the advice he had given me when our roles had been reversed.  
'That's gonna make it hurt more for you... just... you gotta relax!'  
I wasn't giving the bastard advice, or mercy.  
I pulled my fingers out of him, and thrust them back in, this time scissoring them inside of him, and stretching him.  
"Ahh! Fuck!" Dean swore, arching in pain, which only hurt him worse by jostling his ribs.  
"Let me hear you thank me, whore!" I demanded.  
"Alice," Dean groaned.  
"Wrong! What do you call me?" I asked.  
"M-Master!"  
"That's better, but you still didn't say thank you," I said, lazily fucking him with my fingers. "Maybe I'm not being good enough to my little slut." I forced a third finger into him, and leaned over his back, pumping his ass harder as I grabbed his chin and angled his head to the side. He gasped and whimpered in pain, but didn't try to draw away from my fingers.  
"Let me hear you thank your master," I said softly.  
"Th-Thank you, master," Dean choked out. I grinned, and bent down, biting the back of his neck. I stopped thrusting with my fingers, and instead spread them apart from one another. He grunted, his jaw clenched tightly as he tried not to cry out in pain. "Beg me for another finger," I said, biting his ear.  
"What? Alice, you-"  
"Master!" I interrupted him firmly, yanking his hair again sharply.  
"Master! Please... Master, please don't put another finger in me, I can't take it," he said hurriedly.  
"Of course you can," I purred nastily. "Here; I'll show you."  
He tried to pull away, but I kept a firm grip on his hair, holding him in place as I shoved yet another of my fingers into his ass. Dean yelled in pain, and clenched around my fingers like a bitch, trying to push them out. I was afraid I wasn't going to be able to hold him still by his hair, so I wrapped my arm around his neck and pulled him to his knees. He was flush against me, and I could feel his heart hammering through his back.  
Dean gasped at the change of position, whining as my fingers slid into him more deeply.  
"Please... please," he whimpered quietly.  
"Please what?" I asked.  
"I'm sorry, please no more," he begged.  
"Oh... you mean you want me to stop," I said. I started pushing into him more deeply, drawing sharp cries of agony from him.  
"Please! It's too much! Ali- Master, I can't- Oh fuck PLEASE!" he yelled.  
I was in him up to my third set of knuckles, and I grinned. I didn't feel like stopping.  
"Oh, but you feel so good around my fingers," I murmured at his ear. I thrust in and out of him quickly, blood from his torn hole now making it easy to slide deeper and deeper into him. "I think I'm gonna put my whole hand in you," I said.  
"Please Master, no!" Dean plead. He startled me by twisting his arm around and lightly stroking my thigh. "I'll do anything you want, just-"  
"I want you to hold still!" I hissed, flexing my fingers in him to see how much farther I could stretch him. I could feel the tears in the sides of his passage from being stretched too far, and I grinned. He screamed as I plunged my hand in him up to the wrist in one quick stroke, holding him more tightly as he strained against my grip. Without giving him any time to adjust, I clenched my hand into a fist, and his shouts of agony increased in volume.  
After a minute, I let him fall forward, carefully keeping my hand in him as he collapsed onto the floor in front of me. He tried to move, but cried out again when my fist shifted inside of him. He stilled, his eyes glazed over with pain as he swallowed his shouts.  
"I bet you love that you whore," I sneered. I twisted my fist inside of him, but tore nothing more than a harsh gasp from him. Undaunted, I started moving in a thrusting motion, pulling my fist out of his ass and then plunging it back in sharply. He started moaning shakily, and I assumed it was from pain, until he began meeting my thrusts.  
I pulled my hand from him in shock as I realized he was enjoying it.  
"Master! Don't stop!" he plead, glancing back at me.  
"God damn you, you bastard!" I yelled in frustration. "You shouldn't be enjoying this!"  
He didn't reply, just stared down at the floor, humiliation and guilt dominant on his features.  
I groaned, before an idea hit me. If I got nothing else out of this, I could at least hold the fact over his head that he begged me to fist his ass.  
"Get on your back you fucking slut," I growled. He scrambled to obey me, wincing and clutching his ribs. When he turned over, I could see that his cock was hard and straining against his abdomen. Rather than shoving my fist back into his ass, I slid one finger into him and started gently thrusting.  
"Is that what you want?" I asked teasingly.  
"No, Master," he groaned.  
"Tell me what you want," I said, pulling my finger out of him and circling his hole, which had returned to it's normal size in the time my hand had been absent from it.  
"I-I want you to fuck me with your fist," he panted.  
"Where do you want me to fuck you?" I asked.  
"My ass," he moaned.  
"Say it all together," I said. I dipped two fingers into him, stretching him again and finding he was more pliant this time.  
"Please Master, I want you to fuck my ass with your fist!" he begged.  
"Like this?" I asked, clenching my hand into a fist and plunging it into his tight hole with no further preparation. Dean cried out, tensing in pain and clenching around me as I set a brutal pace. For the first few minutes, he clenched his teeth, and squeezed his eyes shut, but he relaxed after a while. Soon, he was gasping for breath and begging for more, pleading with me to go harder, faster, deeper. I couldn't help but be turned on myself by his enthusiasm. He reached for his cock, his eyes rolling back into his skull as he stroked it roughly. I swatted his hand away angrily.  
"If you want something, you beg for it!" I hissed.  
"Master please!" he moaned.  
"Don't make me ask you what you want," I said threateningly.  
"Please will you suck my cock?" he begged. I glared at him, before my vexed features morphed into a grin as an evil idea hit me.  
"You want your cock sucked, huh?" I asked. Dean nodded, and my grin widened.  
I pulled my hand out of him, drawing a groan of protest from him. I silenced him with a glance, and grabbed his shirt, wiping his blood and shit off my hand before tossing it aside. "Sit up," I ordered. He complied, watching me warily. I crouched at his side, placing one hand on the back of his neck, and gripping his dick with the other. He moaned at the contact, and thrust into my hand in an uncontrolled jerk. I stroked him a few times, drawing a different kind of moan from him than I had been hearing, the long, dragging, deep exhalation of pure pleasure, untainted by any pain.  
"I know someone who has the most perfect cock-sucking lips I ever saw. Do you know who I'm talking about?" I murmured at his ear. He looked at me questioningly, and shook his head. I smiled. "You, of course."  
"But... I-"  
"Shh, don't worry your pretty little head. Just spread those legs," I ordered. Dean complied hesitantly, and I started pushing his head down. He groaned in pain, and struggled against my grip.  
"Alice, my ribs!" he yelped. I growled, and whacked him lightly in his ribs, drawing a shout of pain from him.  
"Ignore them. You asked for this, remember?" I hissed. I kept pushing him down, and he couldn't hold back his screeches of agony as I forced his head as close to his crotch as I could. I stopped when his head was between his legs, and his nose only inches from brushing his ball sac. I waited until his screams subsided into quiet whimpers before I gripped his cock and rubbed it against his cheek.  
"How's that?" I asked.  
Dean didn't respond, but I hadn't expected him to. I grinned, and slapped his face with his length again before pressing it against his lips.  
"Open up," I said. Dean shuddered, but complied, his tongue darting out to lick the head of his cock before I slid it into his mouth. He moaned loudly, shaking violently as he sucked the tip of his own dick.  
"Don't you dare cum until I say you can," I ordered roughly.  
Dean nodded slightly, and shifted. He winced as he jostled his ribs, but took more of himself in none the less. I let out a soft moan of my own as I watched him go down on himself. I kept one hand on the back of his neck, but with the other, I reached past my pants and underwear to slide a finger into my slick heat.  
I pushed Dean further, and he gagged as his cock slid down his throat an inch. "Breathe through your nose, and try swallowing," I instructed, squeezing the back of his neck lightly.  
Dean choked a bit, before I heard him start breathing regularly. He moaned loudly around his cock, and I could see him swallowing again and again around himself.  
"Don't forget you can use your tongue too," I reminded him. I bent my head, and licked a zig-zag pattern on his back as a demonstration. His moans grew louder, and I could tell he was close. I reached down and pulled his cock from his mouth. Dean whined and whimpered in protest, and I slapped his cheek with his wet cock.  
"Quiet. I want you to cum all over that pretty, pretty face of yours," I told Dean, tracing his lips with the tip of his dick. He started licking it and tried to suck it back into his mouth, so I poked him in the ribs lightly. He yelped, and I chuckled, stroking his cock to drive him over the edge.  
"Mouth open," I instructed. "But if I were you, I'd close my eyes. Cum stings like a bitch."  
Dean took my advice, and closed his eyes tightly. A moment later, he cried out in pleasure as he came, thick, sticky strings shooting from his slit. I shook his cock to make sure it went all over his face. Some of it landed in his mouth, and he moaned at the taste.  
When I was sure he was done, I let go of him, and watched him ease into a sitting position, then lie down on his back, clutching his ribs and groaning.  
I fingered myself, giving Dean a minute more to catch his breath before I pushed my pants and panties down around my ankles, and climbed onto his face without warning.  
"Eat me out," I ordered, grinding against his face. He moaned against me, and while the sound was almost too muffled to hear, it vibrated pleasantly and sent waves of pleasure through me. He started licking, sucking and biting, working his tongue into me and bringing a hand around to play with my clit. I slapped his hand away, and pressed harder against him to emphasize an unspoken point. Confused, he tried again, and I slapped his hand again, this time jabbing his ribs for good measure. He groaned, but seemed to realize he was only to use his mouth.  
Dean shifted slightly beneath me, and I moaned loudly as he slid his tongue over my clit. I ground against his face, every now and then purposefully moving in such a way that he could not breathe.  
"Fuck!" I swore after a few minutes. I bit my lip, and threw my head back. I could feel the pressure building withing me, and I knew I was close. Dean seemed to sense this, and started eating me with more urgency. I grabbed a handful of his hair with one hand, bracing myself on the ground with the other as I stopped moving and let go, losing myself in my orgasm.  
After it played itself out, I rolled to the side, and lay on the floor next to Dean. He was a bloody mess, covered in bruises, my juices and his own seed. He lay still, staring up at the ceiling blankly. We were both silent for a long time.  
My mind was still, for the first time in weeks. I wasn't angry. I wasn't scared. I wasn't nervous or creeped out or nauseous. I remembered this feeling. It was normal. It was something that I had missed sorely.  
"I'm sorry," Dean said, interrupting my thoughts. I met his eyes, for what seemed like the first time in forever. For a second, I flashed back to a time before we had stumbled into this mess. I remembered how well we had worked together, how we had joked and bantered, and made love. How wonderful everything had been.  
Despite Dean's punishment, I knew we could never go back to that. As I pondered that, I was sad for a moment before I quickly shoved the nostalgic feeling aside.  
Maybe we would never be the same. But at least we would be alright. Who knew. Maybe someday, we would be better than we were before.  
Slowly, my lips curved up into a true smile, one born of relief and contentment rather than hate and spite.  
"I forgive you," I said finally.


End file.
